THE RIDDLE OF RAMSEY HALLS

The light wasbouncing off his head. I could see it from where I was standing onthe top floor of the house. He was mad and his bald skin wasturning pink. As per usual he was shouting at him, yelling at thetop of his lungs that he had been insolent and broken something. Itwas the usual rigmarole.

But when Ilooked to Adam, his blue eyes wide and staring, he didn’t lookscared once. Rather he seemed resigned to his fate of being the badboy of the house. When his father was finished shouting, the littleboy walked up the steps, his little feet patting against themahogany. It was a long way up to where I was standing and hepouted all the way.

“Why are youalways hiding up here?” he asked as he reached the top, his littlelungs wheezing as he spoke.

Adam’s father,the corpulent Sir Thomas Collins was ordering his servants about.So far he had reduced one to tears and made the others scurryaway.

“Don’t you wantto run away from here?” I placed a hand on the little boy’sback.

“More thananything,”

“Why don’t youthen?”

“Because wherecan I go? I’m too young to work or even buy a train ticket,” hesighed and slumped to the floor.

“And when isyour birthday?”

“May19th. I’ll be six then,”

“Ah…. Stillrather too young,” I frowned.

There was along pause between us as we listened to the frantic voicesdownstairs. Sir Collins was a wretched beast who never treated hisfamily with the love they deserved, but he treated the staff in thehouse worse. There were rumours of course, dreadful ones of thingshe did after dark. But little Adam didn’t speak of them, notyet.

“If you join meyou could be free from this house you know?” I nudged him in theribs.

“No thank you,”was his terse reply. “I want to be a doctor when I grow up, or asurgeon. I can’t do that if I die,”

“But you’ll beyoung forever,” I tried to reason. “Wouldn’t that be such awonderful thing?”

The little boyshrugged and looked into space.

“I’ve been sentto bed without supper again,” he looked up at me, his bottom lip onthe brink pf quivering.

“I’ll see whatI can do,” and I stepped back into the shadows.

From a distanceI could see him wander back down the stairs. His little head wasbobbing up and down as he walked, his blonde hair flopping back andforth. I knew the boy had great things destined for him, but Icouldn’t help but want him for myself. He could be my son and I hismother. We’d walk through the halls hand in hand with smiles on ourfaces. We could dance in the ballroom with laughter never having toend, and we could love each other until the end of time with nosuch thing as aging to tear us apart.

CHAPTER 2

“There’s nosuch person as Mildred,” Sir Collins dismissed his wife’s words ashe pushed a piece of steak into his mouth.

“But Adam saysthere is,”

“That boy hasan overactive imagination. He needs to get out of this house more,needs some fresh air that’s all,”

“But with theflu pandemic….” Lady Collins bowed her head over her plate. “I justdon’t want him to get sick like…..,”

From where hewas sitting, her husband may have thought she was fiddling with hernapkin. What he didn’t know was that out of sight she had fishedher hand into the secret pocket of her dress. Pulling out thegolden keepsake, she flipped open the locket and looked at the wispof hair that was hidden within.

“Mathilda….”she whispered into her lap.

“What wasthat?” her husband didn’t look up from his plate.

“Nothing atall,” she snapped it closed and put it back in its place. “I’llspeak to him tomorrow,”

~

The sun,although a rare sight in these parts of the country, had dippedinto the ground hours ago. Adam had been in bed for what seemedlike an eternity but he was still wide awake, his eyes fixed on thehigh ceiling. It was nights like this when he tried to count allthe flowers on the cornicing, but as always he had lost countbefore reaching twenty.

He pulled thecovers over his head and looked into the darkness. Sometimes heimagined a whole world resided in there. Creatures of no knownspecies would mine for fairstone, a pink gem that was priceless inthe human world. Or goblins that were half cat, half reptile wouldroam in the blackness looking for innocent people to prey upon.

His father wasright in that he had a rogue imagination but it wasn’t his fault.Adam’s grandfather was the explorer Sir Lionel Collins, and heoften came back from the tropics with outlandish tales of adventureand conquest. Someday he’d like to grow up and be just like hisgrandfather. He’d travel the world and see that people wereprotected from diseases. That way no one could die like his bigsister had.

Of course henever met Mathilda. He was born after she passed away. But he’doften heard a faraway giggle in a corner of the attic, the onewhere his father’s moth collection lay. Once he’d seen a flicker ofblonde hair as it blew around a closing door, like a flame blowingin the wind. But then it was gone and when he went to investigate,he found himself staring into an empty hallway.

Footstepssounded somewhere in the hall and Adam popped his head out thecovers. He thought for a moment they belonged to his mother withtheir lightness, but then he heard the knock. Only one person inthis house did that.

“Come inMildred,”

“Hello mylittle kitten,” I held out a tray to him. “I managed to pilfer yousome cheese, bread and an apple,”

He sat boltupright, snatching the cheese first and then the bread.

“Thank you,” hesang, his cheeks growing chubby and stuffed as he spoke.

“Slow down mylittle one,” I laughed as I rested on the end of the bed. “Oryou’ll get a tummy ache,”

But he ignoredme and continued to chomp away. After a few minutes he rubbed athis stomach, his little hand running in a circle.

“Have you hadenough now?”

He nodded.

“Will you helpme find the crumbs though?” he looked up to me. “Mother’s alwaysfinding the crumbs,”

“Very well,”and I proceeded to dust down the covers with my hand.

But somethingcaught my attention. It was the boy’s sudden furtive movements ashe remembered something. He hurried to crouch into the corner atthe top of his bed.

“What istroubling you my darling?” I reached out a hand he refused totake.

He had a lookon his face as though some tremendous and terrifying thought hadswept over him.

“How do I knowyou didn’t put anything in the food?”

“Oh mysweetheart….” I began to say before he interrupted.

“How do Iknow?”he started to become tearful. “The last time you putsomething in the pudding I was poorly for days and mother blamed mefor climbing in the apothecary cabinet,”

“I did no suchthing,” I looked away ashamed. “Not this time anyway,”

My lies wereobvious, my cheeks growing crimson despite the fact there was noblood in me. Adam’s eyes were wide in terror and I wanted to grabhold of him, tell him everything would be ok.

“You keepsaying you love me,” his teeth were chattering. “But then you hurtme and I don’t understand,” the tears were flowing now.

I wanted towipe them away with the end of my apron but the laws of Godwouldn’t permit it. If I were to touch him he wouldn’t feel athing.

“I only wantwhat’s best for you,” I fiddled with my skirt. “Someday you’llunderstand,”

“I don’t thinkI will,” his voice was weak as it echoed through the room.

Meandering backout the door I blew him a kiss as I left.

“Sleepwell,”

But he wasalready hiding under the covers once again.

“Sleepforever,”

CHAPTER 3

The rooms ofRamsey Halls were always cold at night, not that I would havenoticed. Somehow though, I rather missed the freezing temperatures,for even being uncomfortable meant that you were alive. It didn’tmatter whether it was warm or not but rather more important to feelit.

It was theendless and vast expanse of nothingness that was the most difficultto bear; to look at food and feel no hunger, to stay awake for everbut never grow tired or to hear a joke and not find it amusing. Theonly thing I felt was sadness, a deep melancholy that onlymotherhood could soothe.

But my chancesof that were now gone, obliterated on the day my life ended. Itseemed so long ago now, but not long ago enough. The stairs made nonoise as I descended them, but if you were to pass me by you wouldfeel a cold breeze, like frigid breath tickling at the side of yourface.

I’d heardmutterings before, pieces of overheard conversation where peoplementioned feeling my presence. They’d often run to one another asthough I was attacking them. Their hands would be shaking, theirskin pale as they spoke of the mysterious gust of air in the atticor the feeling of being watched. I was often an anecdote atdinner.

“Oh, have youheard the spirit in the attic was knocking on the floor onceagain?”

And they’d alllaugh and shriek with goose bumps rising up their arms. Once ortwice they even tried to communicate with me via some silly board.But I was angered by their frivolous entertainment and I flew theglass and board off the table, shattering it to pieces in thefireplace. Yet that only served to make me more of an interest tothem.

It infuriatedme and so now I tried to keep as quiet as possible. I showed myselfto no one but the little boy and only came at night. And so on thisnight I made my way down into the great hall and out into thedarkness.

The stars wereshining bright with the clouds having departed long before. Itwould have been a clear and chilled night was I to feel it, but Igazed at the beauty of the sky nonetheless. It was a short walk tomy destination, one I’d travelled many times.

With my bootstreading in the rocky mud I travelled fast, my eyes having adjustedto the dark. When my feet reached the end of the lane and my handslay upon the stone wall, I reached up on tip toes to seefurther.

“Are youthere?” I whispered into the wind.

“Why must youask yet again?” the voice was gruff and old with a distinctgrumpiness.

I creaked openthe gate, the noise travelling across the moor.

“You’re latetonight,” the figure coughed and stepped out from behind the shadowof a mausoleum.

“I had to carefor the boy,” I explained.

“Care? Isurmise you were trying to kill him once again,” he spat.

“I have myreasons you know,” I tried to protest my innocence.

“Well…. I wantno part in knowing anymore,” and the old man shuffled off.

I watched himas his shape merged with the shadows of the gravestones, hiscumbersome frame weighing heavy in the earth.

As I did everynight I walked the half a mile across the marsh to the localgraveyard. The one where I lay or at least my body did. It is alsowhere my grandfather rests, or rather climbs out the ground everynight to meet me.

He was now atthe far end of the yard, his grey hair like icy tendrils in thewind.

“Hurry upMildred,” he gestured for me to walk faster to our usual place.

Once I arrivedI saw my seat was already made up. It was the upturned stone ofEphraim Wilkins, a long dead theatre director who had perished,like so many, under the influence of the coughing disease. I saw mydear grandpa had laid out the usual velvet cushion for me that Iloved so much.

“Why must yousit on that thing? You can’t even feel the cold of the stone?” he’dask with bitterness in his voice.

“It’ssentimental,” was all I’d say.

And it was, forit belonged to my dear mother, a lady I had lost so long ago. Iwatched as my grandpa reached into his raggedy blazer and pulledout the pack of cards we’d been playing with since as long as Icould remember. Who knew how old they were, but one thing for surewas that they were always rigged in his favour. Not that I cared, Ijust found his company to be a much appreciated experience nomatter how much he grumbled.

“I’ve beenhearing things,”

“Oh…. Justignore the Jones’,” I pointed my thumb to the grand tomb of theJones family that sat near to our graves.